


Do It Again

by kassanovella



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, F/M, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Rape, Rire Wants to Play (TM), Snarky Demon, Tentacle Rape, You Must Die, explicit violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanovella/pseuds/kassanovella
Summary: You recall this much: a man’s face--arrestingly handsome. A voice, dark and smooth, ebony rivers in your ears. Heat. Desperation. Need. Your hands on firm muscle. Your fingers tangled in silken hair.The last thing you remember is a name, tumbling from your lips, seeking mercy. A pacifier. A plea. A prayer.Rire.





	Do It Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrauleinTora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrauleinTora/gifts).



To be honest, you couldn’t remember much of anything.

Time was lost, like sand through skeletons. You recall this much: a man’s face--arrestingly handsome. A voice, dark and smooth, ebony rivers in your ears. Heat. Desperation. Need. Your hands on firm muscle. Your fingers tangled in silken hair. And then darkness. A palm’s pressure on your pulse. Eyes, sickly yellow--a cat’s eyes, slitted pupils blown wide in the night. _The eyes of a predator_ , you remember thinking, and then a whirlwind of white razors where teeth should be, black blackness exploding in a writhing mass above you, emptiness filling you faster than air.

“Not a predator, little human,” the voice says. “A demon.”

The last thing you remember is a name, tumbling from your lips, seeking mercy. A pacifier. A plea. A prayer. 

_Rire._

\---

You woke up in a haze. Your wrists were bound to the bed. You were alone.

Snarling, you yanked on your restraints--your tights from the previous night, wound in a figure-eight and secured to the bedpost--but only managed to cut into your circulation. Heart skipping, you screamed, kicking as you jerked on the bindings. Even with adrenaline-strength, they didn’t tear. 

“Fuck.” You strained, managing only to pinch your skin. You were trapped on your bed, in your underwear. “Fuck!”

Then a chuckle. It was that voice again, low and rolling, thunder in the air. “I’d almost forgotten how weak you humans are.” 

He appeared--the specter of your nightmares--tall and beautiful, like he’d been in your muddled memories. A strong jaw, a bit of facial hair, and long, black locks gathered behind his head. You remembered this, now, too, how he’d been dressed. Formal. Tailored. You hated to reminisce on how perfect his body had looked outside of those clothes, now. Hated that the flicker of recollection brought a shiver up your spine--a shiver that evolved into a shudder when he flashed those fucking teeth.

It hadn’t been a nightmare, then. He was a demon. It’d been real.

“Rire.” You kept your voice even, even while your heart slammed against your sternum. “You did this.”

“Very astute,” Rire replied, a smirk curling on his lips. “What gave it away?”

“Let me go.” You narrowed your eyes. “Now.”

He raised a brow, lowering his sunglasses and revealing his golden eyes. “You’re in an interesting position to be making demands.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. Every revelation made the room spin faster around you--you needed to focus on him. “What do you want?”

“You say that as if you have a choice.” Like lightning, a thick, black appendage burst from his back, its slimy tip cradling your chin. “I want to play with you, little human.” 

Grimacing, you squirmed away from the tentacle, only to have it follow you and turn your gaze back toward him. A demon. He was a really a demon. The blood in your ears drowned out any thought attempting to form--you needed to calm down. You could not let him win. Steeling your jaw, you drew in a long breath through your nostrils, oxygen relieving some of the panic. 

“I’m not interested,” you said.

Rire grinned. “You’re not?” The tentacle slid from your chin, brushing over your neck, staying above your bra as it trailed down between your breasts and over your stomach. Unwanted shudders shook you, your thighs pressing together out of instinct and fear. “You seemed so eager last night.” 

“Fuck you.” You hoped he couldn’t see the trembling of your fingers. “Last night was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” he echoed. “Yet, I seem to remember hearing you scream my name.”

“Shut up.”

“I rather liked it.” Rire stepped forward, another tentacle coiling around your neck. “Do it again.”

Before you could shout, it squeezed, strangling all noise and air in your lungs, and you flailed, kicking into the air and thrashing at your restraints. Rire snickered, the appendage at your stomach hitching onto your bra and shredding it like wet paper. You squealed, blood beating at your lips and cheeks--you could feel your face going purple, could feel your brain starting to cry out for air. The neck tentacle tightened while the other pushed and caressed your exposed tits, the competing sensations forcing your mouth to drop in a silent whine. 

“Hm,” he said. “I guess that is a problem.” 

With that, your throat was granted a sliver of respite, breath crashing into you, and you swallowed a chestful, words forming faster than thoughts. 

“Fuck!” you gasped. “Let me go, dammit!”

Your insistence made him pause--and then he released you, his sunglasses falling low on his nose. From beyond them, you saw his eyes, his slitted pupils expanding as he stared. The hair on your nape stood straight. Somewhere in your stomach, acid ate into you.

“You want to be let go, little human?” Rire’s voice was a purr. One of the inky appendages, now scythe-like, sliced into the tights digging into your wrists, and you crumpled onto your bed, skull smacking the headboard as you fell. “Then go.”

Blinking, you scrambled up, tugging your shirt closed over your chest. Your gaze flitted between him and the door. He gestured to it, as if to release you, as if to give you permission to move in your own home. _Bastard._ There was no way you were going to keep playing this game. Fumbling behind you, your fingers sought the knife you kept underneath your pillow--fuck, you couldn’t do this for more than ten seconds without him catching on. Your nails grazed something hard and cold, and your heart soared.

Jaw tight, you tucked it into your fist and, holding your breath, vaulted from the bed like a spring. Your elbow locked and you drove your arm down, burying the blade straight into the tender meat of his shoulder. For the slightest of seconds, you smiled, convinced you’d just incapacitated him--until he failed to collapse in agony. Or even flinch. Face falling, your fingers started to tremble, releasing the handle of the knife while your gaze crawled up Rire’s body to meet his own.

His brow raised. He tsked. “Rude.” 

Before you could say a word, his face split into a wicked smile, and he wrenched the blade from his body with a tentacle, his hand shooting out around your sore neck as he slammed the knife into your shoulder. Pain tore through you, and you screamed, twisting and grappling with the slick appendage as it turned the weapon like a screw inside your muscle. Your fingers shook, grip weak, and another tentacle coiled around your waist, raising you in the air as you pleaded with him to stop.

“This is fun.” He teased your neck with a squeeze, his other hand patting your cheek. “I’m still waiting on what I asked for.”

Too blinded by pain to speak, you only glared, your hands moving to try and pry his fingers from your throat instead. The inferiority of your strength had never been more depressingly apparent. Rivers of wet warmth trickled down your back and over your tits, and you whimpered, unwilling to look and acknowledge the blood.

“Not broken yet?” asked Rire, a lilt of amusement in his voice. “Well then…”

The knife ripped from your shoulder, a stream of blood gushing out of the wound, and before you could identify or process anything between relief and terror, Rire rammed it into your other shoulder, wresting another curdled shriek from your lungs. Your nerves exploded, your limbs quaking while your brain ground all processing to a halt, overloaded with fear and pain. You needed this to stop. Anything to make it stop. 

“Fuck!” you screeched. “ _Rire_!”

Rire chuckled. “Very good, little human.” The knife slid from your shoulder, and a hot spurt of crimson followed, erupting from your flesh and spattering him scarlet. He paused, examining it. “Hm. That might be an issue.”

“What?” you asked, but found your voice already trembling. It was a lot of blood. Rire’s clothes were soaked in it. The longer you watched, the fuzzier your vision became, the lighter you felt. Fuck. “No…”

Sighing, Rire tossed the knife behind him. He looked almost--disappointed. As if your blood was an offense. As if your death, smothering you like sheets, was an inconvenience. You wanted to reach out, dig your digits into his neck, curse him back to the hell he came from--but your limbs wouldn’t respond. Nothing would. Your vision was black, red, black. You were empty.

“What a shame,” you heard him say, only seconds before you bled out.

\---

You woke up in a haze. Your wrists were bound to the bed. You were alone.

Air rushed you in waves, your flesh hot, sweat beading at your back as your head spun from shoulder to shoulder, scrutinizing the skin. It was whole. Unscathed. You exhaled, relief flooding you. It had been a dream, then. Swallowing, you strained to look at your wrists. Well. Parts of it had. You were still captive. And Rire was still here--but was he still…

You needed to know. “Rire!” you called, jostling against your restraints. 

Seconds later, he appeared, almost _floating_ into the room, a smirk plastered on his face, looking exactly as he had in your dream. It was unnerving how handsome he was. How, after everything that had happened, he had still managed to ignite something inside of you. He was staring at you, his sunglasses resting at the edge of his nose. Yellow eyes. Fuck. He _was_ still a demon. That hadn’t been a dream, either.

“You summoned me, little human?” He cradled his face in his hand. Like he was _excited_.

You wanted to vomit--you tugged on your wrists. Perhaps, if you appeased him, he’d let you go. Perhaps.You needed to try something. Aggression hadn’t quite worked out for you in your dream.

Gathering courage, you provided him with the most pleasant look you could mangle your face into. “What do you want, Rire?” you asked, attempting to inject a bit of husk into your voice. 

He raised an eyebrow, head tilting. “What’s this, now...” he said. “Is the human attempting to trick me?”

The next words wilted on your tongue. He’d seen right through you. Already, your heart leapt into panic, bounding inside of your chest. You were going to die-- _for real_ , this time--and your rage charged forward in place of your fear. 

“Let me go, asshole!” you spat. 

He grinned. “No, no,” he said. “I almost _liked_ you acting like a slut. Go on. You were going to offer me something?”

“Forget it.”

“Oh, come _on_.” Rire came closer. The swagger in his step made a sick part of you ache. “It’ll be fun.”

You swallowed. “Don’t come any closer.”

His grin grew wider. “Or you’ll what?” 

One of those disgusting black tentacles shot from his back and through your binding, and you gasped when you tumbled onto the bed. Your first instinct was to reach for the knife, just like you’d done in your dream. But the memory of how that had ended made you hesitate. Your eyes narrowed, fingers scrunching the sheets into your palms.

“Hm.” The tentacle stroked your cheek, its slick, firm skin sending a shiver to traitorous parts of your body. “We could do this the easy way, or the hard way.” The appendage gripped your chin. “I’ll let you choose which one.”

Your eyes darted across the room, from his face--twisted with a cruel, anticipatory grin--to the door, swung wide open, mocking you with the hope of escape. “Can I know what they entail?"

Rire laughed--a deep, velvet sound. “Of course not,” he purred. “That takes all the fun out of it.” The tentacle grew sharper against your jaw. “Don’t waste too much of my time, little human. Choose.”

Either you were nervous, or the air in the room was losing oxygen. There was no way you’d admit to _him_ making you nervous, though. It must have been the latter. “Fuck you. The hard way.”

You’d thought his smile couldn’t look any wilder. You’d been wrong. 

“Beg to suck my cock.”

You recoiled, fighting the hold the tentacle had on you. “Fuck no! Suck your own cock, you sick fuck!”

“You humans are amusing.” Another tentacle smacked you hard across the cheek. “Beg.”

Growling, you squeezed the appendage still stuck to your chin, trying to yank yourself free. Your hands slipped like you’d tried to grab an oiled banister. Even as you strained your muscles, it didn’t budge. For your efforts, Rire rewarded you by weaving a tentacle through your hair and winding it tight, tugging at your scalp. You winced, the sharp bite of pain inspiring goosebumps down your shoulders. When you reached to tear it away, he bound your wrists with an appendage, too. 

“One more chance,” he said. “Beg for my cock, little human.”

You glared. “Never.”

Rire’s eyebrows rose--and to your terror, he chuckled. “Are you certain?”

The first thing you felt was tranquility--like a warm wave had washed over you, smothered all of the panic in your body, like water to fire. Your brain emptied, your thoughts spiraling into a disposal of nothingness, a sparkling fog passing over you. And then your mouth was moving, a voice that was your voice forming words not borne from your mind. They were trespassers to your body, escaping in an organic disguise.

“Please, Rire,” you whimpered. “Let me suck your cock…”

Your stomach churned at the sound. But Rire grinned.

“Of course, little human. Since you’ve been so polite.”

He stepped forward, bringing you eye-level with the growing tent between his legs. Silent, he unbuckled and unzipped his trousers, pulling his dick free and stroking it to its full length. A sigh left him as the tentacle in your hair wound tighter, guiding you toward his erection. You tried to wrench away, jerking your head to the side, but the tentacle on your chin held you firm. His cock, hot and smooth, grazed your lips, smearing them with pre-cum. You shuddered, swallowing the bile that rose in your throat, and resenting the distant squirm in your belly. 

“Open,” he ordered. When you leered at him, he smirked. “Oh, good. I was worried you’d forgotten.”

A tentacle gripping your chin, one in your hair, one around your wrists, and now one, like a knife, slipping between your lips and wiggling its way between your teeth. You squealed, jaw clamping shut, but Rire’s grip was cement. The appendage inched its way into your mouth, and then turned, prying it open centimeter by centimeter. You thought to fight it, but you could feel its sides cutting into you now--biting down would only make it worse. The moment your mouth had been forced wide enough, the one at your chin snaked past your lips, the two working together like a gag to make your mouth a welcoming hole for his dick. Your tongue writhed helplessly, as if it alone could fight his advances. 

“Very nice,” he growled, and slid his cock into your mouth.

You gagged, and your nose crinkled in a sneer as one of his hands joined the appendage in your hair, rocking you back and forth along the length of his dick. He groaned, pushing himself deeper and deeper into your throat, allowing the wet heat to engulf him. The squirm in your belly wriggled its way between your legs, your thighs clamping together. It was becoming harder to ignore--and you hated it. Rire took a step closer, thrusting into your mouth, his dick stroking over your tongue, slick with your spit. He moaned again, hand nestling deeper into your hair, and you heaved, eyes lining with tears.

“You don’t like it?” He was mocking you. “I think we can fix that.” The appendage around your wrists moved, keeping your hands bound as the tip moved toward the hem of your panties.

Eyes widening, you growled, your legs flailing out in his direction, hope alone driving you to try and knock him over. Or, at least, you thought it was hope. It could just as easily have been stupidity. It was like you were drowning in air, fighting something that consumed and surrounded you. And even with all of your fighting, Rire was unfazed. He laughed. 

The tentacle slithered under your panties, the slick, smooth tip teasing over your regrettably swollen clit. Sparks danced over your skin, and you groaned onto his cock, drool spilling from the corner of your full mouth. Rire chuckled again, pushing you further onto his dick, his hips bucking in rhythm with the toying of your clit. Whining, you squeezed your thighs together, trying to pinch the tentacle from its owner, but that only increased the pressure it applied to your nub.

You wanted to say no. Instead, “Hhnn,” came your pathetic protest. 

The energy in your body whittled to nil, and even as you gargled on the length of his cock, reigning in the urge to vomit, your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Pleasure was winning the war on your senses, overriding the hatred you had for Rire, and even the most primal, physical rejection of his dick. You hated that you could feel the wetness spilling from your inner thighs as your brain screamed in disgust, hated that your clit and walls throbbed in bliss. You were getting close. Against your will, you were going to fucking cum. 

“There we go,” he murmured. “Normally, I like to hear you beg to cum, but I suppose you’re a bit preoccupied.” His length hit a soft spot in your throat, and you wretched. “You want to cum for me, little human?”

You groaned, shaking your head, even as saliva coated your chin and dripped to your breasts, even while your lids fluttered, even as the coil of tension in your belly threatened to snap. The appendage at your clit swirled and rubbed, coating the nub in your own juices, slicking it in tight, hot circles. Words were wisps, your brain only able to catch the tail ends before they dissipated into the tempest of reluctant ecstasy. 

“Too bad,” he said. “Cum for me.”

It started with the jolting of muscles--thighs, arms, stomach--contracting and jerking as the unwanted orgasm erupted inside of you. You squealed, gagging on his dick as you came, your clit twitching against the assault while your fingers and toes went numb with pleasure. Your climax stole what energy remained from your limbs, and you went limp in Rire’s grip. He snuffed a moan, fucking deep into your throat and spilling his cum inside you, sparing you the trial of attempting to swallow it. 

His cock pulsed and twitched on your tongue, and he pulled out, stringing spit and semen across your lips. The tentacles around your mouth released you, and you gasped, heaving and choking while you tried to gulp down as much air as you could, your eyelids still struggling to remain open, your body still bereft of energy. 

“Is… is that… all you wanted?” 

Rire smirked. “Oh,” he said. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easily.”

Before you could speak, a tentacle shoved itself into your open mouth, winding down your throat. It was thick and heavy and almost _wet_ \--your stomach flipped in revulsion.

“Suck it.” His smile was wider than ever.

Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn’t. The tentacle swelled inside of you, growing fat and wide, filling every millimeter of your throat, cutting off air to your lungs. The hair on your arms shot straight, and you screeched, a sound that was dampened to a muted whine. You thrashed against his hold, squirming in his grip, your heart pounding in your chest and temples, your body writhing with strength dug from the deepest reaches of your mind. 

But even this was not enough. The revolt used up the oxygen in your blood faster than you’d wanted. And you still couldn’t fucking breathe. The tentacle had worked its way so deep that you were certain it had wormed its way into your stomach. Stomach. That was a word, right? You couldn’t remember. You couldn’t feel your hands. Your arms. Your face. A last minute struggle--you twisted back and forth, flung out your legs toward him. But you couldn’t see him anymore. You couldn’t see anything.

Rire said something, but it was lost in the ocean of your mind. Then, it was lost forever.

\---

You woke up in a haze. Your wrists were bound to the bed. You were alone.

This time, you shot up, almost popping your shoulders from their sockets. Your heart was already in your throat, your body already drenched in sweat. But you could breathe. And for now, you were alive.

“What the fuck?” you shouted into the air. “Rire! What the fuck? What is this!”

Like an apparition, he appeared at the edge of your sight, sitting at the end of your bed, yellow eyes boring into you. He was still grinning. “You’re not having fun?”

“Fuck no. What the fuck is this?”

“I had hoped you’d come to enjoy my game,” Rire said. 

You scowled. “I hate you.”

His smile grew. You wished it hadn’t. “Really?” He stood, walking over to the head of the bed. The glow of his gaze made you sick with fury. Reaching over, he tugged at the edge of your bindings and pulled them loose. “Then show me how much you hate me.”

Whether it was a part of his game or not didn’t matter. Free to attack him, you slung your fist toward his face, but he was faster, catching the punch in his palm. Your other fist came next, but he caught this one, too, so you leapt up, launching toward him like a tiger, trying to pounce him into the floor. He stepped back, dodging you with the grace of a ballet dancer. You wanted to see him panic, wanted to see the flash of fear in his eyes, but every one of your movements was futile and flaccid, dying in the air before you could blink. The mass of your body felt heavy, as if by having limbs and flesh you were slowing yourself down, like the mere fact of your existence was an encumbrance. Growling, you rushed him, and he stepped to the side, leaving you to hit the far wall of your bedroom. You spun--heaving, furious, desperate.

Rire frowned. “Come on, little human. Fight me.” 

He stepped toward you, snatching your wrist and throwing you onto the bed. You bounced on the mattress, the air knocked from your lungs, but before you could scramble onto the floor, he swept forward, pinning you, his hands on your shoulders, his hips spearing yours apart. Thrashing, you howled, trying to turn your head to bite his wrists. His fingers dug into the muscle, and he laughed. You were a writhing worm underneath his body, just as weak, just as helpless.

“Fight me.” 

Rire reached down, and you heard the jingle of a belt buckle, the _zzrp_ of his zipper. Then his fingers, rough and large, pulled your panties to the side, and he pierced you with his cock, rough and dry. You screamed. 

“Fight me.”

Plunging deep and hard, his dick tore you open, pain shooting up your thighs. You couldn’t cry in front of him. You wouldn’t. Tears welled, and you bit your lip, wanting to fight them off, but it was no use. He growled in pleasure, and they spilled over your cheeks, hot and wet. Your legs and arms were limp at your sides, as if they’d lost all strength. Rire pumped into you, his breath short, watching you, daring you to move. Speak. Anything. But you didn’t want to. You wanted to accept this. You wanted it to be fucking over. 

“Fight me,” he said again.

Your face cracked in a sob. “I can’t!”

He stopped, brow drawn low. “That’s disappointing.”

A flame lit in your chest, and you pointlessly flailed underneath him. “God! Just tell me what the fuck you want from me!”

Pursing his lips, Rire gripped your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. “I already told you.” 

Before you could say a word, his hand flew across your cheek with a stark _smack_ , your skin exploding with pain. Your face hardened when you tried to resist--and he slapped you again, whipping your head to the side. You tried to turn back, and he slapped you _again_ , and _again_ , and _again_ , your skull tossing from side to side, your vision fizzing, your ears ringing in protest. Your chin quivered as you focused, and you drew the two images together in front of you--Rire, smiling, his teeth white and sharp and taunting. Seething, you spit in his face--but you weren’t even given a chance to see the spit land before his hand latched onto your neck and he flung you from the bed, a tentacle around your waist tossing you like a sack into the wall of your bedroom.

You slammed the drywall and collapsed in a heap, pain still radiating from between your legs. Shivering, you attempting to stand, commanding your joints to pull it the fuck together and do _work_ for once. But the appendage was around your waist again, and this time, he launched you through the door, down the hall, and you tumbled like a mass of confused bones into the ground, limbs wild. You gasped, screaming, hoping someone would hear you, struggling to your feet, determined now to reach your front door and dart into the street, find someone, anyone who wasn’t a demon. 

You turned to your escape and met him, chest to chest, his head in a playful tilt. “Where are you going, little human?”

A tentacle slapped you with such force that you stumbled, falling backward, but another one caught you, curling around you, holding you still, a vise against your feeble attempts to wrench it from your body with your fingers, to dig your heels into the floor and push it away.

“Now _this_ is fun.” He held you up, sauntering over, and tugged your panties down your hips. You whinged, choking back a sob. Why wouldn’t it end?

A question that would not receive an answer. Rire pulled you close, your body suspended by his tentacle, and pried your legs apart, pulling out his hard cock once more and shoving it into your cunt. You shrieked when he ripped through your resistance, one hand bolted to your hips, the other around your neck, toying with your breath as he fucked into you. 

Your body shuddered when you broke into sobs. It would have been better to choke them down, but you didn’t care. Everything hurt--and your mind hurt the most. It seemed like you had spent days in an endless machine of torture, and you wanted _out_. Rire drove his dick deep into your pussy, panting, moaning when your body squeezed him out of instinct. Hating him wasn’t enough to stop the slick from coating your walls, wasn’t enough to stall the arousal when he tested the tip of a tentacle across your aching clit. 

“No!” you sputtered. “Please! No!”

“You don’t want to cum again?” he purred, thumb pushing on your pulse.

“Fuck no!” You wanted release. Something. A break from this hell. “Please, Rire. Please just fucking kill me.”

He groaned, tightening his grip around your neck. “Oh, little human…” You hated how flooded with ecstasy he sounded. “You’ll have to beg better than that.”

Before you could speak, he moaned again, pounding you with his cock and nuzzling into your shoulder. He sucked at your skin, drawing lines across your flesh with his tongue, shivers of bliss echoing through you. Your brain short-circuited--the over-stimulation of everything only made you wilder. Rire flicked your clit a second time, making you clench around his dick, and he gasped, rolling his hips into yours. You snapped.

“Please, Rire! Please! Please just fucking kill me. Please kill me, Rire, please! No more nightmares! No more games! I want to die! I need to fucking die!”

A deep moan left his chest, as if your words brought him pleasure. “Of course.”

He growled and bit down on your neck, teeth slicing into your carotid, blood spraying his face in torrents. You gasped, flooded with immediate relief, endorphins rushing your body as they attempted to soothe the screaming pain at your throat. Rire fucked you, still, moaning, gasping, murmuring something in your ear, something that was murky and watery and numb in your mind. You felt it through the last bits of consciousness--his hips hitting you, once, twice, his fingers pinching your skin. 

But it didn’t matter, you figured. Free. Free. Free. You were finally free.

\---

It’s unclear how much time has passed when your brain clicks on again, how long it has taken for your soul to be shuffled into the afterworld. A consciousness is unexpected. Death feels strange, though. Like life. Your heart is beating. You turn your head.

You wake up in a haze. Your wrists are bound to the bed. You are alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is written as a gift to my very dear friend and fellow perverted trash heap, FrauleinTora. I love you so much, and I hope that this was disgusting enough for you. Could it have been more disgusting? Yes, but then I would have worked on it for another year, or something. I am so fucking sorry this took me a bajillion years to write.
> 
> For those of you who have never played Boyfriend to Death and liked this fic, you should absolutely play it. You can find it by googling it, because I don't know how to use HTML. Credit, of course, goes to its creators, Gurobob, Darqx, and ElectricPuke.
> 
> Thanks so much! I love y'all. <3


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